


Sharing is Caring

by ymorton



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:10:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>idfk. written for a tsn kinkmeme prompt asking for clothes sharing! </p>
<p>from Jan 2011</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mark

**Author's Note:**

> fake and fictional

“Isn’t that Wardo’s?”   
  
Mark looks down. It’s a button-down, white, wrinkled, and he’s been wearing it for at least twelve hours. Hours have close to no meaning right now, not with a CS problem set due tomorrow and Facebook ideas niggling the back of his brain. He keeps writing lines of Facebook code into his homework and having to edit them out.   
  
“Never mind,” Dustin says before he can answer, looking smug and a little constipated.   
  
“Okay,” he says, before turning back to the computer.   
  
“What’s up, Wardo,” he hears a couple hours later, and looks up for a second. Wardo’s above him, cheeks pink from cold, and he looks so stunningly healthy and outdoors-ish that Mark almost -  _almost_  - stops typing.   
  
“Hey,” he says instead, and looks back down. Eduardo smells like winter, and cologne, and food.   
  
“Here, idiot,” Eduardo says fondly, and sets down a white takeout box from the d-hall. “Tuna melt. Your favorite. Eat, or I swear to God I’ll close that laptop.”   
  
He can hear Dustin giggling from the other room, and men should not - men should not  _giggle_ , in that fashion. It’s unbecoming.   
  
“Fine,” he says, and the food tastes so normal and real and un-code-ish that he smiles a little, involuntarily. Eduardo’s still watching him, eyes soft.   
  
“Good?”  
  
He nods around a mouthful. Eduardo nods back, smiling, and collapses on the couch next to Dustin, long legs splayed, neck tipped back, and Mark stares at him for one split second. He may have worked for years at focusing on code above all else, but Eduardo makes it hard, sometimes. Especially for the last couple weeks, ever since Eduardo had slept with him, oh  _God_ , not with him, but on him, sort of- in his bed, at least, after a party. He’d woken up with Eduardo, shirtless, nuzzled into his chest, a hand spread possessively on his back, and Mark was hard. Of course he got hard. He’s not a robot, despite what most people seem to think. And Eduardo is- well, objectively, from the viewpoint of most of the population, Eduardo is hot. Sexy. Sexually attractive. Whatever.  
  
He resumes typing when Eduardo snorts out laughter at the TV show Dustin’s watching. So yeah, he’s wearing Wardo’s shirt. So yeah, maybe he kicked it under the bed that morning, and handed Wardo a hoodie, blank expression fixed carefully on his face. So what. Eduardo’s always saying he needs to wear more (or, you know, any) formal clothing. He just chose to wear Eduardo’s. 

\---

It’s two weeks later, and there’s something between them that keeps him on edge, tense, snapping at Eduardo when he tries to take him away from the computer, coding until 6am and drinking Red Bull like water. He keeps falling asleep in class, unexpectedly, waking up when the girl next to him jostles him on her way out, waking up to the slowly-shaking judgmental head of his professor.   
  
He’s bent over his desktop on a Friday night, typing furiously, when Eduardo comes in. He doesn’t acknowledge him, but his toes curl on the cold floor- fuck, he should put on socks, really- and his shoulders stiffen.   
  
“Hey,” Eduardo says cautiously. He’s been busy, with an econ midterm and two business projects, and they haven’t really talked in a while.   
  
Mark nods in greeting.   
  
“I brought that movie, you, uh, yesterday you said you’d watch it with me. I have to, for my Spanish Lit class-” he trails off, and puts a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Mark?”   
  
“Yeah,” he says, voice carefully tight, even though Eduardo’s hand is warm and solid and his eyes are stinging, pricking at the edges from staring at the blue-white screen for too long.   
  
Eduardo huffs out a laugh suddenly, hand still on his shoulder, and the hand travels down and pats firmly on his chest. Mark sucks in a breath.  
  
“Is this mine?” he asks incredulously, and Mark looks down, nearly blushes, because it is. It’s the same shirt. And- and that’s why. Okay. He didn’t think- whatever.  
  
“I don’t know,” he says blankly, and Eduardo’s hand slips onto Mark’s neck, pulls up the tag.   
  
“Ha, it is. Armani. My God, Mark, you’re so fashionable. Whoever did you learn these style secrets from? Someone really special, obviously.”   
  
Mark flips him off, trying valiantly to ignore Eduardo, now cupping the curve of his neck in an extremely distracting way.   
  
“So, come on!” Eduardo says, lifting his hand and clapping. “Get off that fucking thing, we are going to watch this weird movie.”   
  
Mark laughs, a little, more a puff of breath than anything else, and spins around in the chair.   
  
"Where should we-”  
  
“Couch. Dustin installed the DVD player, didn’t he?”   
  
“Yeah, yeah. He did it last week.”   
  
They end up side by side, and the first scene is just fucking, just straight up porn, all shaky and amateurish and Spanish, and Mark swallows hard as Eduardo laughs delightedly. It seems like all he’s seen for the last month is computer screens, and snow, and snatches of details like picture flashes- a slice of Eduardo’s smile, a sandwich in the cafeteria, sun glinting off of Widener. Now he has nothing to distract him, and all they’re doing is fucking. Jesus Christ. The guy on the screen is moaning in Spanish, and Eduardo breathes beside him, and it’s absolutely impossible to stop himself from picturing Eduardo, head down and focused and coming, neck tight, groaning in Portuguese, and Mark shakes his head.   
  
“You okay?” Eduardo asks, and puts his long fingers on the back of Mark’s neck. He shudders.   
  
“Yeah, yeah,” he says hotly, thickly, but Eduardo doesn’t move, just slips his arm a little further, around Mark’s shoulders. He’s 80% sure this isn’t normal bro behavior, but how is he supposed to know? It’s not like he’s had a friend like Eduardo, well, ever.   
  
Still, he can’t relax, just sits stiffly, and finally Eduardo curls his hand around Mark’s shoulder and leans in.   
  
“Mark. What’s wrong?”   
  
“Nothing! Nothing.” He gets goosebumps, Eduardo’s breath in his ear.   
  
“Then just relax, Jesus Christ. You’re like a corpse or something.”   
  
Mark lets his muscles go, and ends up sort-of curled into Eduardo, face hot. He can smell Wardo’s deodorant, thick and musky, and he closes his eyes.

“Mark,” he hears, and he comes awake. It’s darker in the room, and Eduardo’s warm beside him, arm still around his shoulders.   
  
“Mark, it’s over.”   
  
Mark nods, blinking, and is he imagining Eduardo’s fingers stroking underneath his ear or is it happening? He’s not sure, but shit, he’s hard, he’s getting  _hard_ , and Eduardo is so close to him.   
  
“Mark,” he says again, voice a little lower, and Mark finds Eduardo in the darkness and kisses him.   
  
Eduardo doesn’t react in any of the ways Mark imagined, when he imagined it. Which he didn’t. Not at  _all_. He doesn’t pull away and wipe his mouth, or say something shocked and indignant, or jump up. He laughs, a little, like he knows something Mark doesn’t, and kisses him back.   
  
Mark breaks away after a minute, and nearly falls away, but Eduardo’s hand is on his lower back, holding him there, and he curls his fingers up in Mark’s shirt and pushes him down. Eduardo on top of him is so much better than he thought it would be, his weight comforting, his scent overwhelming- Mark bites his lip to keep himself quiet, and when Eduardo feels his cock against him he breathes shakily out and reaches down blindly and palms him through his pants.   
  
“Fuck,” Mark grits out, because it’s not enough friction but Eduardo can’t stop, he can’t, and Eduardo breathes wet against his neck, teeth ten sharp points of pressure against his skin, and gets his hand inside, fists him hard, awkward, messy, and Mark gasps like a girl. Eduardo groans in response, and thrusts his hips down, and Mark feels he’s hard too. Jesus fucking Christ. He’s Jewish, obviously, but right now he would gladly convert if Jesus would let him not come before Eduardo. He wants to make Wardo come, and he wants to not seem like a twelve year old. Both of these goals are extremely important.   
  
But then Eduardo’s pushing up Mark’s shirt, putting his lips against his stomach, and shit, Mark is so never gonna convert.   
  
He sobs embarrassingly when Wardo gets his mouth around him, his hips jerk, and he can’t even form words. Finally, he gets out-  
  
"Wardo. Fuck. Wardo. Fuck- ahh-"   
  
Eduardo pulls away, breathing air on Mark's wet cock, and Mark shudders."Yeah?"  
  
"What are you -  _doing_ , Christ, Wardo-"  
  
"You sounded concerned. I thought maybe you were-"  
  
"No. Please- just, uh, please return. To what you were. Doing."   
  
Eduardo takes him back in, lets his tongue rub the underside, and Mark makes this choked sound like someone punched him in the stomach. Eduardo’s holding his hips, gently like he does everything else with Mark. Mark’s just clutching the sides of the couch, gasping for air, like he’s drowning.   
  
“Shit, oh, shit, Wardo, I’m gonna come-” and Eduardo groans out around him at that, puts his head down further like he’s rededicated to his task, and Mark covers his eyes and comes.   
  
God, it has been so long, he hasn’t even had the time to jerk off in a week, and it feels like forever- he loses himself, and Eduardo’s hands on his hips are the only thing keeping him anchored.   
  
Finally it’s over and it’s dark and Eduardo’s got his head on Mark’s thigh, and fuck, he doesn’t even have his shirt off, and he blushes insanely hot because Eduardo just made him  _come_. Come. Him. And- and- Eduardo. And Mark has a blank stare or witty, disinterested quip for everything but not for this.   
  
Eduardo crawls up his body and kisses him, and Mark can’t relax because yes, that is definitely Eduardo’s cock against his thigh, and is he supposed to give him a blowjob, and he never has before, and he doesn’t even know how. Eduardo huffs out a breath against Mark’s lips, and presses harder against him, and finally just takes Mark’s hand in his and pushes it between their bodies.   
  
“Yeah, okay, yeah-” Mark says, and swallows hard when he feels the outline of it, through Eduardo’s pants.   
  
“It’s okay?” Eduardo asks, and cuts himself off with a sharp intake of breath. “Shit, Mark. Yeah. Right there- yeah.”   
  
Mark bites his lip and works at it, in a way he hasn’t had to since art class in tenth grade, and Eduardo clutches at him, and hisses, and comes between them.   
  
They lay there for a while, and Mark’s about to get up when he hears someone fiddling with the door. He freezes.

“Yes! Yes!” he hears Dustin mutter as he opens the door, a slice of hallway light nearly illuminating them on the couch. Eduardo claps a hand over Mark’s mouth.   
  
Dustin doesn’t even turn on the light, just stumbles unevenly to his room, and the mattress creaks like someone’s fallen onto it.   
  
“Good night, Mark!” he calls, slurring, and starts laughing. “Good niiiight!”   
  
Eduardo grins against his hand over Mark’s mouth, eyes crinkling, and they both hear Dustin from the room-  
  
“- hello, pillow. Pillow! Isn’t it great there are pillows. I wish you were not a pillow, pillow, because I wish you were that blonde chick from Sigma, but failing that, I will accept your presence, pillow. Because I love you. Pillow.”   
  
Eduardo chokes and they both crack up like idiots, albeit completely silently, and Eduardo takes him by the shoulders and just laughs into his collarbone.   
  
After a minute, Eduardo kisses him one more time and rolls off and into the crook of the couch. He kicks off his pants.   
  
“Can I sleep here?” he asks, already sounding half-gone.   
  
Mark doesn’t say anything, but he stands up and digs in his dresser for a clean pair of boxers, throws them straight at Eduardo’s face.   
  
“Ha!” he hears muffled, from underneath them, and Mark turns his back as Eduardo changes without standing up. “Thanks.”   
  
“I’m gonna-” he motions to his bedroom.   
  
“Okay,” Eduardo says, sleepy, face pushed into the couch. “I’ll wake up before Dustin. Go to sleep.”   
  
The next morning, they wake up to Eduardo coming back into the room with bagels and coffee, and if Dustin notices that Eduardo's wearing one of Mark's zip-ups, he doesn't say anything.


	2. Dustin (kind of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dustin's pov (halfway through, at least) (sorry so disorganized) 
> 
> Written Jan. 2011

“I didn’t know you were a fencing champion, Eduardo-”   
  
“Not champion,” he says, laughing, pointing a chopstick at Dustin, “Second place. I was so close.”  
  
“In Connecticut, wow, that’s a long way from Miami.”   
  
“Well, you know how dedicated I am to my craft. Parry! Thrust!” He hits Dustin on the head with a chopstick, then stabs a piece of orange chicken. “Ah yes, chicken. I have conquered you.”   
  
Mark laughs, only a little uneasily, and takes another bite of fried rice.   
  
“That’s how I became the prince of Brazil, actually,” Eduardo continues, still mock-stabbing at his food. “I challenged the king to a duel, to the _death-_ ”   
  
“No, to the pain!” Dustin yells. They all watched Princess Bride a week ago, and Dustin still won’t stop quoting it.   
  
“Oh of course,” Eduardo says, dragging out the “o”. He just finished a midterm he’d stayed up all night for, and he’s slap-happy, laughing at everything, eyes bloodshot. He’d come in, collapsed on Mark’s bed, and now he was wearing Mark’s 1999 Second Place Deerfield Fencing Tournament t-shirt. And Dustin was being... well, Dustin.  
  
“There’s a lot you don’t know about Wardo, actually,” Mark says, and is about to start a rant about Eduardo’s penchant for 80’s hip-hop when Dustin coughs pointedly and waggles his eyebrows.   
  
“And, uh, a lot you didn’t know about Dustin, Wardo,” Mark continues quickly, feeling his cheeks heat. “For instance, Dustin holds a world record in the Harry Potter computer game while simultaneously dominating the world’s lowest number of girls who want to bone him. It’s a prestigious award.”   
  
Eduardo laughs, mouth full, and Dustin gives him the finger.   
  
“Bone is such a ridiculous term, isn’t it?” Eduardo says thoughtfully, taking a sip of his Beck’s. “Like, no one’s like, I want to muscle her. Mmmm, yeah, baby, let’s muscle. Let’s tendon.”   
  
Dustin giggles (yet again!) and pulls out a plastic bag from his pocket. “Speaking of idiotic, pointless questions-” Eduardo mock-punches him “- I scored some shit off of this guy in my stats class. Do you wanna-” he motions over-exaggeratedly, and Eduardo shrugs and takes another bite.   
  
“Sure. I don’t have anything to do.”   
  
“Mark?”   
  
Eduardo laughs. “He never does.”   
  
“That’s right, because he’s too preeecious and speeecial. Mark.. Marky, please, smoke up with us, Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch. What would your namesake do?”  
  
“Damn right he’d smoke some weed,” Eduardo says, grinning.   
  
Mark rolls his eyes.   
  
“One, I am not named after Mark Wahlberg. Two, I have to finish a project by Tuesday-”   
  
“Dude, it’s Friday,” Dustin says, with puppy eyes. “As in, the day in which normal people go out, drink a little, and dance, etcetera, and yes, in the past I have curtailed my insanely busy social life in order to watch Princess Bride with you guys-” Eduardo scoffs. “- but tonight I want to see Mark Zuckerberg trying to code high. That’s my goal. Right there. That’s my life goal.”   
  
“Dream big,” Eduardo says, but he raises his bottle in a silent toast. 

An hour later, Dustin is sort of starting to regret his whole stay-in-and-smoke-with-Mark-and-Wardo plan. Because White Stripes is playing slow and lazy on his iHome and Mark and Eduardo are giving each other what Dustin’s mom would call “bedroom eyes”. Eww, and now he’s involved his mom. He takes another hit to dispel the Jewish guilt.   
  
Mark’s only been high a handful of times, and he’s sitting loose-limbed in his desk chair, mumbling a little. Eduardo’s sprawled on the couch, too-small t-shirt riding up, and he keeps  _looking_  at Mark like he wants to straddle him right there.   
  
“Mmm,” Eduardo says, and he puts his face in the crook of his arm and laughs for a solid minute. Mark laughs too, and Dustin’s left feeling like he didn’t get the joke.   
  
“Gimme,” Eduardo says finally, motioning at Mark who has the joint now, and Mark shakes his head.   
  
“Can’t move. Chair is my legs. Are my legs.”   
  
Eduardo laughs again, breathless, and staggers up.   
  
“Mm, okay, give me a hit-” he says, too close to Mark’s face, and Mark holds up the joint for him. Dustin can’t not watch, but they don’t do anything really, Mark just watches him as he inhales, licks his lips, and Eduardo grins and blows smoke out around his teeth. Coughs, a little, and collapses back on the couch. Dustin breathes out a sigh of relief. (Sexual) crisis averted.  
  
“Are you - serious? Jesus Christ.” The door bangs open, and Dustin sees Chris, waving a hand through the smoke and coughing.   
  
“Christopher! Hello!” Eduardo waves at him and starts laughing again.   
  
“Hi Wardo.” Chris shakes his head, and opens the window. “You need to cover the smoke alarm, dipshits. If I have to pay, I will kill you.”  
  
“No, Chris! No! Now that you are here, the gay to straight ratio is very high! Dangerously high!” Dustin shuts his mouth. He was totally gonna act cool. Stupid pot.   
  
Chris makes a face at him and laughs. “Why, am I like, four people? Am I that gay? Or, ohmygod-” he puts a girly twist in his voice even as he’s shoving a towel under the door so no smoke will escape- “are you saying I’m, like, FAT?”   
  
“What!” Dustin says to no one in particular. Fucking Chris. He loves messing with people. One time he and Mark planned this epic ambush that was apparently going to convince Dustin that aliens were real, but Mark fell asleep before Dustin came back to the room. Chris was pissed off for weeks.   
  
Eduardo and Mark don’t seem to notice- Eduardo has his phone out, and Mark looks vaguely put out that Eduardo’s not giving him fuck-me eyes anymore.   
  
Chris throws another towel over the fire alarm thing, grabs a scarf off his bed, and takes the joint out of Mark’s fingers, stubs it out.   
  
“You guys are high enough,” he pronounces, and Mark flicks him off, and finally just stands up and sits down next to Eduardo, close, so close, and Dustin gets crazy eyes and tries to grab Chris’ sleeve and show him, but Chris just gives him a weird look and pulls away.   
  
“I’m gonna hang out in Brent’s room, okay?”   
  
“Okay!” Dustin says in an insane high-pitched voice and Chris shoots him another look. What is he supposed to do? Chris is leaving him in a pit of intoxication and unresolved sexual tension!   
  
Except, Eduardo puts a hand on Mark’s thigh, still scrolling through his phone, and maybe it’s not unresolved. Dustin shudders. Oh God, he is trapped. He flops back on his bed and starts to plan his response if they start fucking in front of him. He will make an outraged noise, like an eighteenth century maiden. Or maybe he will gasp loudly and point at both of them, like they always do on the soap opera his mom watches whenever the main lady discovers another bastard child she conceived while date-raped at the prom. Either way, it’s gonna be really dramatic, and it will totally show Chris... his eyes close.

\--

Ironically enough, he’s woken up by a whisper of, “Wait. Is Dustin asleep?”   
  
He opens his eyes, still feeling high and paranoid, and is someone breaking in to their room? He heard that can happen, and now they’re all going to get murdered in their sleep and their laptops stolen and code! His code! All of the code!  
  
He moves minutely, shifts a little to his left, and looks down, over the floor, and oh thank God, they’re not being burglarized. Mark is just laying on top of Edu- wait, Mark is  _laying_  on top of  _Eduardo._  He considers the scandalized-maiden gasp, but Eduardo puts a hand in Mark’s hair and grins against his lips, and he can’t cock-block his best friends. That’s totally against the bro code. He’s pretty sure gay hookups in the same room as one’s roommate is also against the bro code, but still - cock-blocking is just wrong.   
  
“Yeah, yeah, he’s asleep,” Mark says, his normally flat voice all weird and crack-y, and he sort of shimmies against Eduardo and leans down and kisses him. Dustin closes his eyes, but he can still hear them.   
  
“Shit, Mark-” Eduardo gasps after a minute. Dustin opens his eyes, and they’re still kissing, in that awesome way Dustin does when he’s high, all focused and soft and slow and lazy. But Mark’s hand goes between them, and Eduardo sucks in a breath, and okay, Dustin refuses to actually be in the same room with the result of his strict adherence to the bro code.   
  
He clears his throat and rolls halfway over, and he hears them freeze.   
  
“Did he-”   
  
“Shh!” That’s Mark, and he sounds panicky.   
  
“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. Let’s go to my room.”   
  
“I’m so fucking high.”   
  
Eduardo laughs breathlessly. “Me too, I just wanna- I wanna give you head-”  
  
“Shh, Wardo, Jesus!”   
  
Dustin’s mouth drops open. He did not just say that.   
  
Eduardo’s still giggling, muffled, and Mark says, “Fine, fine, let’s- Wardo-”   
  
Dustin hears them stumble out of the room, and when the door clicks shut behind them, he sits bolt upright in bed and grabs his phone.  
  
“Chris? Chris!”  
  
Chris is laughing into the phone, and there’s music playing. “Yeah?”   
  
“Is that- Lady Gaga? Never mind, never mind, okay, Chris. You need to be here right now.”   
  
“Why?”   
  
“It’s- it’s Wardo! And Mark! Chris, come back to the room. Room is crisis central right now. It’s the Batcave right now. Room is the  _place to be._ ”  
  
“Oh my God, you’re so stoned-” he breaks off and says to someone-  _yeah, sorry, my suitemate, he’s high off his ass and I think he’s having a breakdown-_  
  
“Don’t! Don’t say that to your gay party! Come back!”   
  
“Are they okay?”   
  
“No! Well, yes. But we need to talk!” He doesn’t want to be homophobic. It’s okay to be gay! Chris has pounded that into his head enough times.   
  
“Jesus. Okay. I’m coming home. Relax.”

\---

“And then he said he’d give Mark head, shit, that rhymes, and they left!”   
  
Chris nods, not nearly as shocked as he should be. “Wow. Okay.”   
  
“Chris! Why are you not, like, freaking out?”   
  
“Come on, Dustin. We both guessed it would happen at some point.”  
  
“Wait. No we did  _not._   _We_  never guessed this at all. I’m sorry I don’t have like, gaydar, or whatever, and I know there were the shirts, and the sharing, and the meaningful looks, but how does it even work out that they smoke and then get blowjobs? Like, that’s what should happen to me. I smoke weed and I am left alone in my room, with no blow jobs. Never any for me. I want one for my very own!”   
  
Chris laughs, and then stops, and then waves his hand in front of his face. “Dustin! Jesus!”   
  
Dustin’s been staring at Chris’ mouth, eyes a little glazed. He starts when Chris says his name, and looks at him, eyes wide and terrified.   
  
“Oh my God, I’m gay!”  
  
“You’re not gay, idiot,” Chris says, standing up and picking up empty cups. “You’re just horny. “   
  
“I don’t know,” Dustin says despondently, lying down again and closes his eyes. “I don’t know about this.”   
  
“Well, don’t think about it then. Just relax.” Chris tosses the cups in the trash, and suddenly he’s sitting next to Dustin, and Dustin’s eyes pop open when Chris puts a hand on his crotch.   
  
“How long have you been hard?” he asks, casually, like they’re talking about the weather, and Dustin props himself up on his elbows, eyes wide.  
  
“What? What- Chris-”   
  
“How long. Have you. Been hard.” Chris bites off each word, and cups Dustin and oh fuck, maybe he’s been hard since Eduardo and Mark left, maybe since he saw them kissing. It’s not fair! He gets insanely turned-on when he smokes, and they were kissing, and it was all wet, and then he started thinking about blow jobs. A  _saint_  would’ve gotten a boner.  
  
“I- I don’t know-” he says, swallowing frantically.   
  
Then Chris unzips his pants, and licks his lips, and Dustin is no saint.   
  
“Chris-” he says weakly, even as he thrusts his hips up.   
  
“Relax,” Chris says again, patting Dustin’s thigh, and he leans in and licks a stripe up his dick.   
  
“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Dustin says in a high voice, and his hands clench into fists.   
  
“Just Chris is fine,” Chris says, rolling his eyes, and he blows cool air over his wet cock and Dustin shudders, gasps.   
  
“God, has anyone ever even-”   
  
“Chris,  _please-_ ”  
  
Chris grins and takes him in. Dustin watches him, and his elbows keep falling and his eyes going shut but he can’t not watch, and he forces him open, and Chris looks up at him.   
  
“Hey,” he says, breaking off, and puts Dustin’s hand in his hair. “Here. It’s okay.”   
  
Dustin nods, and sobs when Chris swallows him. He didn’t even know people could- could  _do_  that, and he has gotten a blow job before, thank you very much, but it was in high school and the girl used way too much teeth, and pulled off before he could come.   
  
Chris is way better. Is this what they learn in the GSA?, he thinks maniacally and Chris laughs around Dustin’s dick and Dustin comes. Chris swallows.  _Swallows_ , and Dustin is still recovering from  _that_  fact, when Chris looks up and says, “This is not what we learn in GSA, Dustin, you perv.”   
  
So apparently he’d said that out loud. That’s almost as embarrassing as the fact that he just came in about .4 seconds. Luckily, Chris just grins at him, and pulls his pants back up with one hand.   
  
“Feel better?” he says, and Dustin covers his face with one hand and nods about six too many times. Chris laughs.   
  
“Don’t worry about it, alright? Now we’re all gay.” Dustin’s eyes pop open in panic and Chris nearly doubles over laughing at him.   
  
“I’m kidding, dumbass. Go to sleep.”   
  
Dustin dimly feels Chris throw a blanket over him, and he murmurs right before passing out, "I didn't even get to see Mark code high."   
  
"But you got a blow job out of it, right?" Chris tucks the blanket under Dustin's chin, and Dustin nods sleepily.   
  
"Yeah. You're right. It's okay to be gay." And he drifts off to the sound of Chris laughing.


End file.
